


saint valentin

by hellalujah



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Romance, like straight up saccharine fluff idk this is life now, these boys are dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 20:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9784469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellalujah/pseuds/hellalujah
Summary: or, Porter and Hugo and the comedy of errors that is their Valentine's day in Paris.





	

**Author's Note:**

> unedited as this was a last minute fill.
> 
> happy valentine's day! <3

There’s a voice saying Porter’s name in his ear but he’s so warm and comfortable and _sleepy_. And he’s having a lovely dream about being some kind of underwater creature, a merman maybe. All of his friends are there and Hugo’s a shark or something, and his mouth is full of teeth but Porter thinks kissing him would still be nice -

“Porter, wake up!”

He grunts and turns his face more fully into his pillow. The dream is half-slipping away but he’s tired enough that when he noses at the pillowcase he can almost pretend it’s sand, and he’s curled at the bottom of the ocean with Hugo and -

“Porter, it’s Valentine’s day!”

He forces his eyes open.

It takes him a few moments to process that he’s not underwater anymore. That he’s in a big, soft bed with a big, soft comforter pulled up to his eyeballs.

And Hugo’s there, perched next to him on the bed. Fully dressed and grinning so bright that it’s almost blinding.

“Time to get up, marmotte!”

Porter blinks up at him blearily and he's sort of aware of how heavy and _crusty_ his eyelids feel and it's kind of gross but Hugo’s holding a coffee cup in front of his face and he snakes one hand out from under the blankets to reach for it.

“Did you just call me a marmot?” he asks thickly, and Hugo pulls the coffee away like he’s luring a pet out from under the bed.

“No, no, it’s not like that,” Hugo laughs, waving the mug around so that the scent of dark roast drifts toward Porter. “It's like, ah! Because they hibernate, you know?”

Porter's too fucking tired to wrap his head around what Hugo's trying to say so he focuses on heaving himself upright.

“Gimme that,” he grumbles once he’s sitting up. Hugo hands the coffee over, finally, and Porter takes an irritable sip. “Time is it?”

Hugo hums. “A little after eleven! I let you sleep late, you missed breakfast. And now it’s time to get _up!_ ”

He punctuates it by standing and then yanking the blankets down off of Porter’s bare legs. Porter shrieks and nearly dumps his coffee all over himself.

\---

They eventually make it out into the Paris streets and Porter’s still decidedly _not_ pleased with Hugo but he holds his hand anyway.

It’s not like he wants to or anything. He’s just been distracted googling photos of marmots and his forehead still hurts from the lamppost he’d walked into earlier.

He’s still mad at Hugo, though.

“I thought we’d get some croissants first,” Hugo’s saying. “There’s a great café I went to last year. Their pastries aren’t as good as the place I took you Nantes, of course, but they’ll do for a nice late breakfast!”

Porter hums and keeps his eyes fixed on his phone. Marmots are kind of cute, he supposes. But he doesn’t think he likes being compared to a rodent much.

He huffs out an irritable little breath and Hugo’s hand tightens around his. Porter resolutely doesn’t squeeze back.

“I was thinking after that we could walk along the Seine, you know. It’s a little cliche but romantic, I think!”

Porter shrugs his shoulder and it bumps into Hugo’s. “You’re the French one, you know romance or whatever.”

Hugo laughs cheerfully and it’s an effort for Porter to keep a smile from spreading across his own face. He looks back down at his phone instead, still lit up with images after image of marmots.

The low battery warning flashes up on his screen and he purses his lips. He hadn't thought that Hugo would drag him out first thing like this without having any time to do anything but shower and brush his teeth and _go_.

Well. Hugo's got his phone anyway. And he seems to know where he's going.

\---

“I thought you knew your way around here,” Porter says idly as Hugo jabs at his phone.

“I’m not from _Paris_ ,” Hugo snaps. “This place is an awful labyrinth.”

Porter eyes him. “Are we at least close? I’m hungry.”

Hugo shoots him a glare that sends a chill down his spine and Porter gets his hands up in front of him in what he hopes is a placating way.

“Alright, okay,” he mutters.

He leans back against the alley wall. He really is getting hungry and the sun is actually starting to sink lower in the sky. When he glances at his watch it's nearly four already. They've been wandering around for _four hours_ and he’s realizing he hasn't eaten since yesterday.

His stomach grumbles and he rubs at it a little pathetically as Hugo hisses at his phone under his breath.

“Mon dieu, cette _putain de ville_ -,”

“Why don’t you ask for directions?” Porter tries and then cowers when Hugo rounds on him.

“Google says we were going the right way,” he says dangerously.

Porter nods and keeps his mouth shut until Hugo's heaves out a breath and looks back at his phone.

“Ah,” he says.

“Ah?” Porter asks warily.

Hugo looks up at him and he doesn't look angry anymore. More… embarrassed.

“My phone died,” he says quietly. “I’m… not sure where we are.”

Porter stares. His stomach growls and Hugo grins sheepishly.

“I’m not sure how to get back either.”

\---

It takes them another hour to find their way back to the hotel.

Porter doesn’t say a word and when Hugo reaches out to try and link fingers with him Porter jams his hands in his pockets.

He’s sulking. But he’s tired and he’s hungry and his feet hurt. He’s mad at Hugo for snapping at him and he’s mad at himself for _being_ mad.

It’s not a great Valentine’s day.

Porter ducks into the bathroom when they get back to their suite to splash water on his face. His stomach is still growling hollowly and he thinks longingly about the McDonald’s they’d passed on the way back.

He knuckles at his eyes. He’s got a headache now too.

He dries his face and heads back out into the suite and Hugo’s sitting in the desk chair when Porter walks in.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly and Porter shrugs.

“It’s fine,” he mumbles. “My head hurts, I think I might lay down a bit.”

Hugo stands and goes to him, smooths his hands over Porter’s shoulders. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

Porter shrugs again and Hugo’s brows draw together.

“I’ll run out and buy you some Aspirin, okay?” He leans in and kisses Porter’s forehead. “Lay down and I’ll be back in thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, okay.” Porter turns out of his grip and flops on the bed and at least housekeeping had come. The bed is made and it smells clean.

He closes his eyes, breathes in deeply and listens to Hugo’s soft footsteps as they fade down the hall. Listens as the door clicks shut and he’s left alone.

Porter opens his eyes slowly. There’s a phone on the nightstand within arm’s reach. A room service menu right next to that.

He sits up and he smiles.

\---

“Porter?”

Hugo’s voice drifts into the suite, careful and gentle, and Porter smiles from his perch on the bed.

“Hey, I’m feeling better,” he calls back. “Come in?”

Hugo appears around the corner a second later with a grocery bag dangling from his hand. It looks like he’d picked up more than just Aspirin - a couple of water bottles, what looks like bags of chips, maybe some candy bars.

He freezes in the door frame.

“Surprise,” Porter says, waving one arm grandly around the room.

The hotel staff had been _very_ helpful when he’d called down and in what had seemed like no time at all they’d been bustling into the room with champagne and chocolates and an actual cheese platter - _charcuterie plate_ , Porter reminds himself with a mental eye roll.

Maybe he’d picked at the charcuterie plate a little before Hugo got back but he thinks he can be forgiven for that.

“Porter,” Hugo says. His voice cracks and Porter beams up at him.

“Valentine’s day isn’t over yet,” he says, clambering off the bed and plucking a strawberry - chocolate covered, of _course_ \- off one of the platters. “I did a romance for you, eat up!” He thrusts the strawberry out at Hugo and Hugo _stares_.

And then he smiles.

“How very French of you,” Hugo murmurs, dropping his grocery bag and taking the strawberry, popping it in his mouth and chewing slowly.

He doesn’t take his eyes off Porter.

Porter shrugs. He can feel his cheeks going warm under Hugo’s gaze and he catches the hem of Hugo’s shirt in his hand. “It’s no big deal,” he mumbles, more than a little embarrassed. “I just though, you know, since the day didn’t go as planned-,”

“Fuck the plans,” Hugo interrupts, and then he’s swooping in and catching Porter around the waist, kissing him soundly and shepherding him over to the bed. They nearly knock over the cheese platter - _charcuterie plate_ \- on their way but Hugo’s tongue is in his mouth and he tastes like strawberries and chocolate and Porter’s pretty sure he prefers that to cheese.

He breaks the kiss when Hugo tips him backward onto the bed, turns his face away and laughs breathlessly.

“I got cham _pagne_ , Hugo,” he says, mock-exasperated. “Don’t you want cham _pagne_?”

“Stop saying it like that,” Hugo snickers against his jaw. He presses a couple of wet kisses to Porter’s ear until Porter laughs and catches him by the hair.

“Hey,” he whispers before Hugo can kiss him. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

Hugo grins and catches his mouth again and Porter thinks his day is actually turning out pretty alright.


End file.
